


THE FUTURE FLOWS FROM HERE

by RiverWoman



Series: The Future Flows From Here [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiverWoman/pseuds/RiverWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War is over; for most, life goes on as usual. For a few, life will never be the same again, but time is a great healer.</p><p>Harry, Hermione and Ron travel to visit their old potions master and adversary. However, Professor Snape may have retired from teaching and life, but he still has the ability to surprise. Can friendships be formed and for two of the heroes of the War, can there be any hope for love ?</p><p>************************************<br/>I am raising my wand today and lighting the path for his journey towards the Great Unknown. An inspiration for so many, not just in fandom - his passing has left a void; but I will continue to write in the spirit of Severus Snape.<br/>Adieu, Alan Rickman - I loved everything you did; but mostly, I loved your voice. And your smile. And your eyes. And your skill as an actor. </p><p>A bereft RiverWoman: January 14th 2016.</p><p>***********************************</p>
            </blockquote>





	THE FUTURE FLOWS FROM HERE

THE FUTURE FLOWS FROM HERE

Two and a half years. I didn’t think it would take that long, I always thought maybe a year, but then, I am an optimist.

Four years after the end of the Last Wizarding War and two and a half years since his return, they have found their way here. I watch as they walk up the path from the road and into the courtyard. Should I open the door before they knock, or do I wait? I decide to wait. The knock comes and still I wait, one, two beats before walking from my vantage point at the kitchen window to the backdoor. It is a stable door, so I open the top half.

‘Bonjour,’ I say.

‘Oh, oui, bonjour. Madame de Lyon … de La Manoir de Lyon?’

‘Oui, je suis Madame de Lyon. Can I help you?’

The young woman breathes a sigh of relief. ‘You speak English, good. We …’

‘I know who you are and why you are here … you are expected. Please, come in.’

I open the bottom half of the door and they enter the kitchen. They look around, perhaps curious to see what kind of house he lives in.

‘Please, sit. Would you like coffee, tea? Or a cold drink perhaps?’

‘Coffee, please,’ the young woman says.

‘I’ll have the same,’ one of the young men adds, the other simply nods.

They sit at the kitchen table, stowing their rucksacks by the side of their chairs while I fill the coffee pot and set it to boil on the stove. They observe me, am I what they expected? The same … or different?  Attractive … or not so much? I smile to myself as I lift the bowls from the cupboard and fill them with coffee. I place fresh milk, sugar and spoons on the table, then I sit down with them.

‘Help yourselves to milk and sugar,’ I say. They nod, the men adding milk and sugar, the young woman takes hers black, trés chic. They sit and wait. ‘You drink from the bowls, very French,’ I reassure them. They smile at me, embarrassed, but it is a simple mistake if you don’t know. I am being deliberately mean by keeping them waiting, but after two and a half years, another fifteen minutes is nothing. When they are halfway through their coffee I tell them what they came to hear.

‘He is here and I have instructions to let you visit with him should you ever come. So, if you will excuse me, I will let him know you have arrived.’ I leave the kitchen and walk along the corridor to his room at the back of the house. I knock and enter; he is sitting reading by the open doors that lead into the garden. I go over to him, I lean in, put my arm around his neck and kiss his cheek. ‘They are here. Are you still sure you want to see them?’

‘They have come all this way to find me; it would be rude not to see them.’

‘Since when have you ever been worried about being rude?’ I chide him gently. ‘So, in here or in the garden? I could bring out bread and cheese for a light lunch, perhaps some Aquavit?’

He nods. ‘In the garden, it’s a warm day. It will be … pleasant.’

I go back to the kitchen where they are still sitting like polite guests, their coffee finished. ‘He will see you in the garden, come, I will take you.’

They follow me through the house, through the large sitting room and out through the French doors into the garden. He is already waiting by the table; when he turns to them their faces break into smiles. I hold them back for a moment. ‘He still tires easily, but it will do him good to see you.’  I watch as they quickly cover the space to him, one shakes his hand, two embrace him. I laugh quietly at the look of genuine surprise on his face. They sit and make themselves comfortable.

I return to the kitchen to find the Aquavit, four glasses, fresh cheese and bread. I place everything on a tray; add a dish of thick yellow butter, fresh olives, plates and knives. A bowl of green apples, black grapes and napkins completes the menu and I take it out to them. His visitors are talking quickly, excitedly as he sits and listens. I place the tray on the table and retire to the sitting room. I pick up my knitting and continue with the shawl I am making. I can keep an eye on him from here. He sometimes forgets how close to death he came and he will try to do too much.

For him, the healing process has been long. For me, it was the waiting and that was longer. I have spent years waiting. I waited for the visits. I waited for news. I waited for news his death. Sometimes, when I am melancholy, I feel I have spent my whole life waiting, waiting for something bad to happen to him, or to me. When he first told me of the grand plan all those years ago, my immediate thought was of the danger he would be in, my second thought was, how long will it take?

After the First Wizarding War and Voldemort’s defeat, he would spend the summer and winter holidays here.  Then Voldemort returned and The Second Wizarding War began and his visits became sporadic and the time he was able to spend here, shorter. But he loved being here, he said it always revived him, the clear, mountain air helped him; the fresh home cooked food fed not only his body, but sustained his soul. He would walk in the mountains, up to the small lake through the pine forest. Often, he would return with a collection of flowers, wild herbs and seeds, all of which he could use.

Towards the end of the War his visits almost stopped and when he did visit, he was pale, thin and withdrawn. He would sit in the garden and the fresh air would irritate his chest so that he coughed up thick, black phlegm. I knew that the Darkness was upon him and he was fighting it.  I worried and waited. When he left that last time, I thought it was possible I may not see him again in this life. The visits stopped altogether and I heard nothing, nothing, nothing. My life became a life of yet more waiting. How long do you wait? Should you wait? The War was over.  Days, weeks, months passed. Summer, autumn, winter, spring and summer. Still I waited, still I hoped, ever the optimist.

I glance out to the garden, they are describing something to him, arms flailing as if duelling, the ginger one swings his arms as if wielding a sword and they laugh. He lifts the glass of Aquavit and sips it. He is enjoying their company and that pleases me.

It was a year after the end of the War when one day, Gaston, the postman, came cycling into the courtyard of La Manoir de Lyon. He was very excited because he was delivering a letter to me, the first in many weeks. I took the envelope, looked at the writing and the postmark. I thanked Gaston and he was disappointed I did not invite him in for coffee while I read my letter as I would usually have done. Once he was cycling away, I tore open the envelope. I recognised the postmark which is why I could not read this letter in front of Gaston, to do so would have meant the rest of the village knowing the contents.

The letter was dated ten days before and the handwriting was a fine copperplate I did not recognise. I looked to the end of the letter and at the signature. I was sure my heart had stopped beating because I was numb. I dared not read the contents, it was bad news, I knew it was. So I returned the letter to the envelope and placed it on the table and decided that I would read it when I felt braver. But the letter drew me in, called to be read. I sat and picked it up again.

I remember it was a fine day. On the mountains, the alpine flowers were in full bloom; the wild thyme and rosemary blossomed and filled the air with their fragrance. There was a slight breeze which rustled the trees and in my kitchen I was taken by a dark terror. But I must read the letter; I had to know what it contained.

 

 _Dear Saskya,_ (so the writer knows my name, my true name)

 _I am sorry to bring you bad news …_ (my hand covered my mouth to stop the cry of despair) … _but Severus was seriously injured at the end of the War_ … (seriously injured, but that is good. Injured is better than dead) … _He was treated at_ _St.Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries where he remained in a coma for several months …_ (Mon Dieu! What kind of injury was it?) _… He has since awoken and has been making slow but steady progress …_ (even better) _… He needed a further period of treatment for snake bites_ (snake bites? When I understood the significance of those words my courage deserted me, I was shaking) _… then he needed a long period of convalescence, which he has undertaken at a place known only to a few trusted friends_ … (he is with friends, good, good. I read on) _and to let you know he will be coming home as soon as he is strong enough to travel_  (coming home, I stared at the words in disbelief) _… I apologise for not contacting you sooner, but it was only recently that he told myself and another the truth about you … and his home_ (it was always necessary to keep my existence secret)… _please be assured that he is alive, safe and is recovering as well as can be expected._

_I hope this letter brings some comfort to you._

_With my good wishes._

_Minerva McGonagall_ , _Prof._

_Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 

I read the letter four more times; then once again later in the day and twice more when I was in bed. Finally, by dawn of the following day I was able to let the tears flow.

Laughter drifts into the room, it is good to hear him laugh once again. Laughter had left him for so long. My shawl has grown; perhaps it should become a blanket.

Time back then slowed to a tick-tock of long minutes. Once more I spent my days waiting; only now I could watch as well as wait. I would rise early and retire as late as I could, just in case. Summer came and went. The rains and winds of autumn drenched the mountains and still I kept watch. The first snow of winter lay crisp upon the ground when he finally arrived. He was accompanied by two wizards I did not know. Did I wait or did I fling open the door and run to him?

I had waited so long, two more minutes would not make any difference.

I opened the door as he approached. The two wizards nodded to me in greeting, shook his hand and left. We stood and stared at each other. I took his hand and led him into the warm kitchen, sat him down and made him a bowl of fresh coffee, roasted in the traditional way, with chicory. He smiled at me and drank his coffee.

Over the ensuing months he told me of the War, of why he had to stay away, of his almost fatal attack and slow recovery; he had no memory of the coma, only that in his unconscious dream, he always saw the mountains. He was withdrawn, sad and in pain most days. The snake bites had damaged much of his body, so he took a potion every day to minimise the effects. But slowly, with each passing day, he grew stronger in his body. His mind however, was not healing as quickly. During that time he also told me that the three who sit with him now, may visit. I asked why and he said … it was necessary.

Looking at them now, I see he is right.

The afternoon has lengthened, so I go to the kitchen and put the kettle on, I then go into the garden and ask if they would like a cup of tea? I receive four yes’s and he asks me to bring tea out to the garden. I return with tea for five as I love this time of day, when you can sit and enjoy a fresh cup of tea. I also have cake and an apple tart I baked this morning. I sit with them, but feel I am intruding on their memories. I rise to leave, but he takes my hand and gently asks me to sit. He understands my concern and doesn’t let go of my hand.

‘You have a very lovely home, Madame de Lyon,’ the young woman remarks.

‘We both like it, Miss Granger,’ he says, ‘here in the mountains the air is clear and fresh.’ They nod in agreement.

‘Would you care to stay the night?’ I ask.

‘Yes, stay the night,’ he encourages.

‘Only if it’s not too much trouble,’ Harry Potter says.

I smile at them. ‘It is the end of term; my children will be home for the holidays today, so the more the merrier. We have chicken chasseurs tonight, with haricots vert, salad, tart, cheese and fruit. I also have some good wine that needs opening.’

Bells ring in the house. ‘Ah! They are home, holidays have begun,’ I say.

Three faces turn towards the house and my three children come charging into the garden.

‘Maman, oncle!’ they shout, ‘c’est les vacances!’ They stop dead when they see the guests.

 It is my youngest, Marius who is the first to recognise them. ‘C’est les trois d’or, Arry, Ermione et Ron,’ he shouts, ‘maman, oncle, sont-ils vos amis?’

‘Mes amis, Marius, de Hogwarts,’ Severus replies.

My three children surround the three heroes of the Last Wizarding War and start chattering to them in French.

‘En Anglaise, s’il vous plait,’ I ask them. So now the questions tumble out in English.

I look at him and watch as the corners of his mouth curl into a faint smile. I leave it a minute or two before clapping my hands to get their attention. ‘Trunks are to be put in your rooms, owls in the owlry or left to fly, quickly now. Our guests are staying with us tonight, so there will be plenty of time to chat.’ They nod and go to their uncle to give him various hugs and kisses, which he accepts with easy grace, then in a noisy rush, they are in the house putting their school things away.

‘Do they all attend Beauxbatons?’ Hermione asks.

‘Yes, Marius is in his first year, Elise in her second year and Sabine in her fourth year,’ I tell them.

There is a silence at the table. From inside the house comes the sound of running feet, laughter and shrieks of excitement. He looks at me, cocking his head slightly. I know that look. So, I am to be storyteller, eh?

'Il y a encore de danger?’ I ask him.

'Non. Nous sommes hors de danger maintenant' he replies and takes my hand again.

It is some moments before those words ‘we are out of danger now’ sink in; I take a deep breath and tell the story of the Snape family.

After a very lively supper, I can see that he is tired, so I suggest he retires for the night. He agrees and after kissing me and receiving more kisses from his nieces and nephew, he bids our guests goodnight. With six helpers the table is cleared and the kitchen is tidy in no time. The children disappear to various parts of the house and as it is now dark, I step outside and set the enchantments for the night.  For me, safe is still a relative term. Our guests also bid me goodnight and leave for their rooms. I offered Hermione and Ron a room together, as over the day I had noticed they were close, the touching, the smiles and the relaxed way they treated each other. They thanked me and were no doubt relieved that they would not have to sneak around the house in the dead of night playing musical bedrooms.

Finally, the house is quiet and deep night descends. I am checking the doors, another habit but one that makes me comfortable at night. Soft footfalls make me turn, it is Harry.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Madame, but could I speak with you a moment?’ I nod and take him back into the kitchen; we sit in the light of the full moon. ‘I was just wondering,’ he continued, ‘has he ever … mentioned me?’

He is looking earnestly at me, worried.

‘Of course, all the time. You are the reason everyone did what needed to be done.’ I watch him twist his hands on the table top, he frowns.

‘He must hate me.’

A simple statement, yet so full of hurt and … guilt. ‘Pourquoi … why?’ I ask.

‘I was really horrible to him, said things and did things.  I was young and stupid and I didn’t understand or realise until after the War what he had done and how much …’ he stopped. ‘I would visit St Mungo’s when I could and sit with him. I would talk to him as the healers said that hearing a familiar voice may help bring him out of his coma. But why would he want to hear my voice after everything I had done? … anyway, I would just sit and tell him things, everyday things y’know, about my work or the outside world.’

He stopped and sighed heavily before continuing. ‘Then one day, I just sat there and I apologised … for everything. I may have also said things … personal stuff. He woke up the next day.’

‘Did you see him afterwards?’ I ask.

‘As often as I could. He was still very weak, his mind … it was like his mind was elsewhere. Sometimes Hermione would come with me; I think he liked seeing us. Then one day, Ron said he would like to come with me. That was a big step for Ron.’

‘I am sure he enjoyed your company very much and thank you for being a friend to him.’

He pushes his spectacles up his nose. ‘It’s just … well … what I said to him …’

Ah! So this is it? A young man in love. An older man also in love.

Of course I had seen the looks that passed between them over the day. The way they smiled at each other at supper; the animation when talking to each other. I had also witnessed the touch, fleeting and maybe accidental, but I don’t think so, enough to make Harry turn to him and blush rather sweetly. I also noticed how Harry’s smiles brought a spark of life back into his dark, sad eyes.

I cover Harry’s hands with mine and squeeze them. ‘I think I understand what you are trying to tell me, at least I hope I do, as what I am about to say next … if I am wrong … it will embarrass us both.’ He looks at me expectantly. ‘His room is at the end of the corridor. I think he would like your company.’ He blushes again and I laugh softly. ‘So I am right, eh? Look Harry, I know my brother, and what he has needed is kindness and love, which we have provided. What he needs now is love that I and my children cannot provide. He craves intimacy.’

‘I thought you would be …’

‘What? Shocked?’ I laugh again, ‘my big brother may be 20 minutes older than me, but I can read him like an open book, perhaps it is twin thing. And, after all, this _is_ France.’

He laughs at that. ‘Thank you, Madame.’

‘One thing that has not been mentioned today, even when I was telling you our family story. Although there was not the kind of fighting or killings that occurred in Great Britain, things did happen here in France, Voldemort’s evil was felt here, as well as other places. My husband was killed during the War.’

‘I am sorry to hear that, Madame.’

‘Thank you Harry, you are kind.’ He rises from the table, but turns to me before leaving the kitchen.

‘Madame, may I ask which side your husband was on during the War?’

I sigh as I push myself up from the table and go to him, it is a fair question. ‘Does it really matter now?’ I ask him, ‘many families lost someone and we all know it must never happen again, that is the only important issue.  Now Harry, go and begin to heal my brother … and yourself. Bonne nuit, mon ami.’ He turns and walks down the corridor, I hear him knock softly on the door, it opens and he goes inside.

I climb the stairs to my own room. The house is full again for the first time in many, many years and it feels good. This ancient farmhouse, although not in the wizarding village, has its secrets and knows how to keep them safe. It is often used by La Légion du Lion d'Or as a meeting place or a safe house and it enjoys being filled with family and friends.

 I visit the bathroom to clean my teeth and attend to my toilette and then I check on my children. Severus had been a wonderful, stabilising presence for them since their father was killed. To have been able to share the pain of loss had brought us all closer.  He is now the male head of our family and my children love him.

Marius is already asleep, sprawled across his bed, I brush his hair away from his face and take the opportunity to kiss him goodnight. He is the image of his father. At eleven, he thinks he is growing too old for hugs and kisses from his maman. His maman however, disagrees.  

Elise is reading in bed, she looks up as I enter. At thirteen she is fast developing into a beautiful young woman, but she is still willing to hug me goodnight. She tells me that supper was fun and could Harry, Hermione and Ron stay longer? It also made her happy to see Uncle Severus happy. I tell her she is a good girl and I love her very much as I hug her. I also promise to ask our guests to stay longer if they would like to.

Sabine is working at her desk. Like her uncle, she has a natural talent for potions and spends much of her time researching through old recipe books and manuscripts, many of them from her uncle’s library. We talk briefly about her term at school and what she has planned for this holiday. At fifteen she is a dark haired beauty already breaking boy’s hearts at school. I tell her not to work too late and as I hug her she tells me she hopes Uncle Severus asks Harry to stay with him, at least for a while. When I tell her that it is entirely probable that Harry is already discussing such things with her uncle, she giggles and says she is glad.

In my room, I undress, slip into my nightdress and climb into my empty bed. I turn to look out of my open window; the curtains flap gently in the night breeze. From somewhere deep in the mountains, a lone wolf calling to the full moon drifts to me upon the night air and I find the sound comforting. I pick up the photo of my husband - the one from our second anniversary, he is making it rain flowers for me and he looks so handsome with his blonde curls framing his joy filled face – and I tell him of my day, as I have done every night for these last four years.

_‘So my love, it has been an exciting day. The children are home for the holidays and the Golden Three finally arrived. It pleased Severus and it was wonderful to see him smile and even laugh again. Do you know that Harry is in love with him and I’m certain that Severus is definitely in love with Harry? The inter play between them would have made you smile. So, I am hopeful. If Severus has not done so, I will try to persuade him to stay longer. The children want them to stay, well, the girls do, Marius was asleep so he couldn’t ask me. It’s a full moon and the wolf is howling tonight, I can hear him quite clearly. He sounds just like Moony, lonely and sad. Severus got me to tell our guests the Snape family story, which I think surprised them. But as he told them afterwards, it is better to be without a life and have a family, than to have a life and be without a family. I think being in close proximity to Mr Potter has addled his brain and made him philosophical._

_It is the end of another day without you and I miss you more than ever. I keep thinking that you are going to appear in the courtyard one day as you used to do, just to surprise me.  As always, if you see my mother in the Veil, give her a kiss from me and two from Severus. If you happen to come across my father, please feel free to kick him once from me and twice from Severus. I give kisses to you from me and the children. I will always love you._

_Until tomorrow, bonne nuit Lyrus, mon cher amour.’_

I place the photo back on the stand and watch as he dances around our bedroom, creating a flower storm just for me, then I turn over.  It is a warm night and Severus must have his doors open, as from beneath my window come the voices of two men speaking quietly; there is soft laughter and a long sigh. Ferme Malefoy is protected, safe and peaceful for another night. I fall off to sleep with an optimistic smile on my face.

 

                                  ************************************************************************************************************************

 

It is a glorious morning. I had woken with the birds and taken my shower before the rest of the house was awake. Dressed, I stand by the window brushing my hair when movement below catches my attention. Severus and Harry are leaving his room and walking down the garden towards the gate at the end. They must be going for a walk up to the lake, yet they are not walking together as lovers would, but when Harry places his arm around my brother’s waist, Severus does not pull away. A good sign. I smile as I watch. Severus stops, he knows I am watching them, so when he turns and looks back at me, I raise my hand and blow him a kiss. He stares at me, but Harry, who has turned around as well, smiles at him. As Severus opens the gate for Harry, he places his hand in the small of the young man’s back to guide him through. I watch until they have turned the corner and are out of sight.

Downstairs I make the first coffee of the day, step outside and remove the night’s enchantments. Then I pour myself a bowl of coffee and take it into the garden to enjoy in the fresh day. By the time I have finished, the house is waking up; I see movement in the upstairs windows. Soon after, Hermione and Ron come through the sitting room and out to the garden.

‘Bonjour, Madame,’ they both say.

‘Bonjour, mes amis, Did you sleep well?’

‘Very well. The house felt very safe, almost as if it had wrapped itself around us in comfort and safety,’ Hermione said.

I smile, ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. Now, coffee then breakfast or coffee with breakfast?’

‘I’d like breakfast with coffee,’ Ron said, a bit sheepishly.

A growing man with a good appetite, I rose and squeezed his arm, ‘Good choice.’ They follow me back into the kitchen. ‘I will make French toast, with brioche and bacon; there is cheese, bread and fruit from yesterday. Help yourselves to coffee, milk is in the pantry.’

As I set about making breakfast, my children come into the kitchen and sit with Hermione and Ron. Marius, who already hero worships Ron sits next to him, which Ron takes in good part, particularly as it means he is separated from Hermione. The conversation flows over breakfast and I don’t have to remind the children to speak in English. During breakfast I ask Ron and Hermione if they would like to stay for a few days, there is plenty to do and see and there is always High Village, the wizarding village, where there is always something going on. The children beg, oh yes, please stay, please say yes. They laugh and say they would love to stay as long as Harry wants to and by the way, where are Harry and Professor Snape? I tell them that I had seen them go off up the mountain earlier and they should be back soon. Ron looks puzzled, Hermione smiles knowingly. As if on cue, Harry appears in the doorway, he seems upset and angry.

‘Right, get packed, we’re leaving,’ was all he says before running upstairs and slamming his bedroom door. Five faces turned to me, and then comes the slam of another door, this one downstairs.

‘Merde!’ I said.

‘Maman!’ the children chorus.

Then the crashes start. Double shit. I looked at Elise, her face is about to crumple and she is clearly agitated. I have to make a decision, and quickly.

‘Hermione, please go to Harry, do not let him leave. Ron, I need you to go with the children, Sabine will take you. Do you have your wand?’ He nodded, but was obviously confused by this mad woman’s request. Explanations would have to wait though. ‘Good. Please stay with the children until either I or Hermione come to get you.’ Sabine takes her sister’s hand and gestures to Marius and Ron to follow her. Hermione goes upstairs.

I have to go to my brother.

I stand outside his door listening to the destruction that is taking place. There is a lull, so I take a deep breath, open the door and go inside. The mess is unbelievable, it is as if a whirlwind has entered the room and then decided to stay.

‘You can be a real idiot sometimes,’ I say.

He turns. ‘I don’t recall asking you for an opinion,’ he spits at me.

‘You’ll get one all the same.’

‘Get out!’ he yells.

I smile, which I know will irritate him. ‘No.’

‘GET   OUT   NOW,’ he yells again.

‘Saying it louder is not going to make me leave,’ I am always surprised at how calm I can be when he is raging. In response, he throws a breaking spell at his bed and it falls apart.

‘Oh yes, very mature. Now, tell me what all this is about, Sev.’

‘Don’t call me that,’ he positively hisses at me.

‘I will call you Sev if I please; I called you Sev long before anyone else.’ He raises his wand at me. ‘Go on then,’ I challenge him, ‘do it, you know the outcome, but if it will make you feel better, go ahead.’ He glares at me, his eyes are wild and I think he might just do it this time. Instead, he sinks to his knees and his head falls to his chest. So, this is not anger, it is sadness. I go and kneel before him and gather him into my arms. He hangs on to me.

‘I can’t do it, Sassi.’

‘Do what? Tell me.’ But he shakes his head and so I tell him. ‘You can’t let a man hold you, or touch you or love you? Is that it?’ He doesn’t respond. ‘Don’t you think you are deserving of love?’

‘I just rejected him. I am frightened … he … overwhelms me,’ he whispers.

‘What did you do, Sev?’ He clings to me, tighter.

‘I told him it would never work, that I had no interest in the boy I used to teach, who hated me and whom I hated.’

My heart almost breaks at this and I hold him as close as I can, just as we would do when we were children. ‘And none of this is true, is it?’ He shakes his head. ‘I saw how you were with him yesterday and how happy you seemed this morning. So, what went wrong that made you say those things to him?’

‘He wants to stay … with me … to … he said to learn about each other, to see if we could have any sort of future.’

I have to smile at that, Harry with the impetuousness of youth wants to run head long into a relationship with my brother. My brother the planner, my meticulously detailed brother who thinks everything through once, then once again before coming to any conclusion. My brother who believes he is unworthy of the loving touch of another. ‘Sev, listen to me, it is time. You have had time to recover in your body, to recover in your mind. Now it is time to allow your heart and soul to recover. I love you so much, but I am your sister and I cannot do any more. The children adore you, they can’t do anymore. Harry can. He is in love with you; I have seen it in his eyes.’

He nods, ‘I know, I heard him.’

‘When?’

‘In my coma. I heard his voice. He starting saying things about himself, about me. He told me … that he was in love with me. I think … he held my hand.’

‘And then you woke up, c'est merveilleux! Do you need any more proof?’

‘I have nothing to give back.’

‘Oh you great idiot,’ I laugh  gently, ‘you are kind, generous, very clever, have a wicked sense of humour,’ pulls away and looks at me, I shrug, ‘agreed, it takes some getting used to, still, you are a most wonderful and skilled potions master and a rather  dashing, gifted wizard, in an austere, minimal sort of way. Would you like to me to go on?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Sassi,’ I nod in understanding. ‘You are right, as always. I am in love with him. He has grown into an interesting, intelligent and caring man. You know we talked all night? It was … wonderful.’

‘So, you must say sorry to him, not me.’

‘I know,’ he stands and helps me up.

‘You also have to reassure Elise, she is very upset. I had to send her downstairs, just in case.’

He closes his eyes in regret and pulls me into him. ‘You’re right again Sassi, I am an idiot.’

I nod as I reach up and take his face in my hands and kiss him six times in the family tradition. ‘Now, big brother, you are grounded until all of this mess is cleared up.’

He smiles at me. ‘Mais oui, ma chère petite soeur,’ and he kisses my forehead, ‘thank you.’

I leave him and go upstairs to Harry and Hermione. ‘It’s me,’ I call out, knocking on the door. I go in to find them sitting side by side on the bed. Harry doesn’t look at me.

‘Hermione, thank you, but I need to speak to Harry. Would you go down into cellar and make sure they are alright? It is quite safe, Severus is calm.’ She rises to leave, ‘Elise may still be frightened … but her uncle isn’t angry … he is sad.’ Hermione nods and leaves us. I take her place on the bed.

‘He is sad, Harry. Yes, he is also an idiot and he didn’t take kindly to me telling him so.’

‘Yeah, well that makes two of us then, doesn’t it?’ he snapped back.

I sighed, ‘He is in love with you and that frightens him.’

Now he looks at me. ‘Why does being in love with me frighten him? He is Professor Snape, not frightened by anything.’

I have to think very carefully about this. My brother is in love, Harry is in love. It should be simple, but life is not simple, life likes to complicate things. I have to think how best to explain the complexities of my brother’s life, of his personality.

‘I need to tell you certain things, Harry. Will you listen?’ He nods. ‘Severus believes he is unworthy of love, of being loved, yet he needs to be loved and he needs a lover. Please believe me when I tell you he is capable of great love. His problem is … he won’t allow anyone in, he pushes them away.’

‘I told him I would be his lover, I want to be,’ such a simple statement, such a large commitment.

‘And that’s when he said those things to you, wasn’t it?’ He nods again. ‘Are you a Ligilimens?’

‘Not really. Severus tried to teach me Occulmency by using Ligilimens on me, you know, so that Voldemort would find it harder to access my mind. I was hopeless and he threw me out.’

That would be so like Severus; like me, he is able to compartmentalise his mind, those who cannot, well, he has no time for. ‘Very well. I need to show you some … memories, which I think is the best way for you to understand why he acts the way he does. Follow me.’

He follows me out of the bedroom and along the landing, up the stairs to the top floor. I take out my wand as we walk towards the far wall. ‘Manifesto!’ I command and a door appears. ‘The house is very old,’ I say by way of explanation. The door leads us through a corridor and up another flight of stairs into a room that runs the entire length of the house. It is one of the secrets of the house. Contained in this room are the family portraits, the library of antique and arcane books on magic of every kind, the artefacts and heirlooms of the family and the potions room that both Severus and Sabine use.

‘Madame’ he says pointing at a portrait.

‘Avez-vous jamais enseigné qu'il est impoli à point, mon garçon?’ The portrait complains.

‘Why is there a portrait of Lucius Malfoy here?’ Harry asks me.

‘That is not Lucius that is Cygnus Malefoy, an ancestor of my husband.’ He looks at me not really understanding. ‘I am a Malefoy by marriage.’

‘But your name is …’

‘de Lyon? No, it is not. It is Madame Saskya Malefoy, and the real name of this house is Ferme Malefoy, Malefoy Farmhouse. Where you are standing now is the meeting place of the La Légion du Lion d'Or, it is the equivalent of the Order of The Phoenix, but it is much older than the Order. La Légion was formed in the fifteenth century at about the same time as the rise of the Inquisition. The Malefoy’s were one of the founding families. Mainland Europe has always been a dangerous place for witches and wizards.’

He is staring from me to the portrait and back. ‘Madame, he has gone.’

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Harry. He cannot cross water. He will have gone to tell my mother or father in law that I have brought you here. You are quite safe, the French Malefoy’s do have quite the same … reputation as their English cousins.’ I see the light of understanding come to him. ‘Now you begin to comprehend why I have always had to be kept secret from Voldemort, yes? Had he ever known that Lucius had close family here, or that Severus had a sister … both Severus and Lucius are expert Occulmens, as is Narcissa, they were always able to keep the Dark One out of their minds, although I understand that at the end, Lucius was beginning to crack.’

‘Severus … is braver than …’

‘None braver,’ I say. ‘Now please, bring the pensieve over and place it on the desk, now add the water.’ As he is doing this, I take my wand and bring forth the memories; I then drop them into the water. ‘Harry, what you will see is the truth, but under no circumstances must he know about what you are about to see. Hopefully, he will tell you himself one day.’

He nods his understanding and plunges his face into the water.

I know what he is seeing. Two small children clutching each other and crying in fear as their father beats their mother for no other reason than she wanted to use a house elf to help clear up. A boy standing up to his father who has just hit his sister and sent her flying, only to be hit himself; two older children who watch helplessly as their father drives their mother to her death by bullying, hitting, shouting until she finally gives up and fades away; a distraught sister trying desperately to comfort her more distraught brother because he is left alone with their violent father. There are other instances from our childhood, but I did not reveal to him the worst of what we had to suffer. Harry pulls up; I take my wand and return my memories to my mind. I pass him a cloth to dry his face. He sits silently, head buried in the towel.

 ‘He feels unworthy of love because our father was a bully; he was incapable of love and Severus fears he is the same. But he is not the same Harry. He is capable of a depth of love that only I and my children see.’ I am now silent for many minutes; he raises his head and looks at me. ‘It broke my heart every time I came back to France. I would beg him to come with me, I was staying with friends of the Prince family, he would have been welcomed, but he felt he couldn’t, at first it was because of Lily, then he wouldn’t, because of Voldemort.’

‘I’d only seen a brief moment once when he was trying to teach me Occulmency. I really was hopeless, but one day he made me so angry, I used the Ligilimens on him and I think I saw his father hit him. He was so angry with me for seeing that.’

‘No Harry, it wasn’t anger, it was shame,’ I stand up, ‘will you think about giving him a chance?’ he nods and stands to join me. ‘I will help. I can make sure you have time together. But I will tell you this, if you do not take this road now, it will be forever lost to you, to both of you and the road not travelled leads only to regrets. Come.’ I take his hand and we go downstairs and into the kitchen.

Marius and Sabine rush up and hug me. I look around for Elise, Hermione smiles and nods towards the sitting room. With my arms around my children I cross the corridor to the sitting room and we stand in the doorway. We stand and watch as my brother, their uncle comforts his niece. She is sitting next to him, his arms are around her and her head is resting on his shoulder. He is speaking gently to her in French, she is nodding. She trusts him completely. I take my children back to the kitchen, with my finger I indicate that everyone should remain where they are. I go to my brother’s room, the door is open and all is as it should be, neat and tidy again. I am smiling when I return to the kitchen.

‘Come along Harry,’ I say and he follows me back to the sitting room. I take his hand. Severus and Elise look at us. ‘Chérie, retourner à la cuisine, s'il vous plaît.’

‘Oui, maman,’ and she leans up and kisses her uncle six times on the cheeks before going into the kitchen.

Severus stands up, looking from me to Harry. I lead Harry to him, take my brother’s hand and place Harry’s into it. ‘You are ungrounded,’ I smile at him and leave the two of them staring at each other.

In the kitchen, Hermione and Ron are looking at me, questioning with their eyes, much too polite to come out and ask me. ‘Good. Now, go and get what you need, we’ll go to the Haute for a spot of lunch and some shopping.’ The children run off. ‘And bring some money,’ I call after them. I turn to Hermione and Ron, ‘We’ll give them some space for a few hours,’ is all I say.

They still stare at me; I give in. ‘You want to know about Elise? Very well.’  

So I tell them briefly, for the story is a long one that reaches back into the mists of early magic, how my mother in law is a Felderup, a pure blood family from Central Europe and her family carry the Lycanthrope gene.  Not in every generation, but my brother in law, Luca was a Lycanthrope. He could change into a wolf, not a werewolf, just a big, cuddly wolf.  Elise adored him, she had a connection with him that makes us believe she too has the gene and as she is approaching womanhood … well, we just have to wait and see. I explain that it is scary the first few times the change happens and there is a chance that she could hurt herself or others in her fear. The very first time she changes, anger could be the catalyst, or stress and when she heard the doors slam …  I told Ron that I asked him if he had his wand, because if she had changed, there is a charm that works to put her to sleep. Sabine knows it, but as the more experienced wizard, she would have asked him to cast it. Downstairs is a safe place for her, as it was for Luca. I don’t tell them the full story of course; if things work out and they become friends to our family, then over time, the whole story can be told.

‘Is that why there is a photo of Remus in our bedroom?’ Hermione asks.

‘I had forgotten that was there,’ the children come back into the kitchen, ready to go, ‘but yes. Remus spent a lot of time with our family. And yes, I do know he died during the War with his wife. It made us all sad. Remus was the only one of the Marauders that Severus could tolerate.’

‘How shall we do this, maman?’ Marius asks. ‘Shall we fly, Apperate?’

I laugh, ‘with three adults, I think we can Apperate safely. I shall give Ron and Hermione the image; take out your wands.’ I stand in front of the two as I touch my wand to my temple and withdraw the image they need, I pass it to their wands which they then place in their minds.

‘I’m going with Ron,’ Marius declares his intention before anyone else can claim his hero.

‘Very well, bien. Sabine take my arm, Elise with Hermione. Let’s go.’

We land safely in the small meadow at the edge of the village and together we walk into the main street. They run ahead, keen to show Hermione and Ron what Haute Village has to offer. I nod to those that I know as I pass and laugh out loud as the children drag their new friends into ‘Blagues Brillantes de Hénri Hiccup’ – “Henry Hiccups Brilliant Jokes” to be parted with their Comètes, Faucilles and Vaches and I am certain that Galleons, Sickles and Knuts will also be welcomed.

I walk along, window shopping, smiling to myself. The sun is shining, my children are happy, my brother is in love. Once more the world is filled with endless possibilities. Perhaps now I can give myself the time I need to grieve for my own loss. I have had to be strong for the children who no longer had a father and for my twin who had regained his life at such terrible cost. I didn’t mind being strong for them, but now, they must understand and give me the space I need to mourn for my husband.

I think I shall spend some time in the mountains, looking for the lone wolf that calls each full moon. And when I return, perhaps our home will be a place from where the future flows, for Severus, for me and my children, for all of us.

After all, I am an optimist.

 

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